Title Waves yes, TITLE It's a play on words
by Reimo Simone
Summary: Griee Morganae asserts her titles. Appearances by many characters...
1. Chapter 1 Title Waves

Disclaimer- Only the plot belongs to me. I don't plan on receiving any profit, either.  
  
Author's Note- If you review, I will update. If you don't review, I will probably still update. But I'll be in a much better mood if you take the time to critique. Flames are okay, but as of yet, I can't imagine what would inspire them. I've tried to keep it all kosher and canon with the exception of two 'orders.' The Bren/a is made up, by me. The Illuminatae is a shadowy organisation that may or may not exist. I'm just borrowing their name. Anything else non-canonical is probably a mistake. Take for instance Snape's title. Is it potion's master OR potions master? I think for the most part I've stuck with the latter but I'd be grateful if someone could confirm the usage.  
  
Summary- Griee Morganae asserts her titles and, to the bafflement of all, seemingly tames the Potion Master's vicious tongue. SS/OC R/R *WIP*   
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter One  
  
Title Waves  
  
  
  
Late for everything, Griee thought to herself. Well, she was really in no condition to be spiriting about on a broomstick this early in the morning or, more recently, any other time of day. Surely in her in near thirty years she had earned the right to take her time. Foolishly bounding up to the front steps had left her wincing from the dwelling pain in her ribs. Less than halfway to Dumbledore's office, she was forced to slow her pace. She was only able to take shallow breaths and knew it wouldn't be in her best interest to arrive before Albus doubled over and gulping air. Yes, she thought, there's no sense in alarming the old man. Her second thought was closer to truth. If the news of her attack hadn't severely alarmed him, she doubted he would have extended such a warm, if not vaguely authoritative, invitation to Hogwarts.   
  
  
  
Lost in thought and dulled with pain, she rounded a corner haphazardly and nearly collided with a set of very black and very old fashioned robes worn by a very tall and very forbidding figure. She stepped back, out of his immediate personal space, but the dark man was not appeased.  
  
  
  
"Who are you," he hissed. The severe and reprimanding glare he pinned her with was almost comical. Try me, she thought and chuckled softly. "Have I said something humorous," he demanded.  
  
  
  
"Humorous?" She questioned. "You've yet to say anything remotely polite, let alone humorous." She chuckled again and began to walk past him, onward to Dumbledore's office. He shifted onto his right foot and blocked her path.  
  
  
  
"Regardless of my manners," he snarled, "you haven't answered my question. Who are you?" He eyed her suspiciously. If you only knew, she thought.  
  
  
  
"I am here to meet with Headmaster Dumbledore and thanks to you, and your charm," she added, under her breath, "I am late. Step aside," she ordered. It was only then that she realised her commanding tone was unwise. Had she really gotten so used to her status? After having recently had an occasion to truly demonstrate her awesome power, she had begun to accept her responsibility and her titles. Titles and power this man knew nothing about.  
  
  
  
"Well then, allow me to accompany you," he sneered. Is he afraid I'm going to steal the silver, she wondered. At any rate, she was in no mood to argue. She once again began moving toward the Headmaster's office. Keeping up with the dark man's ground eating strides proved difficult and she was visibly paler by the time they neared the guarding gargoyle statue. Ignorant of her injuries, the dark man attributed her pallor to his imposing presence. He turned to her, waiting on the password. Not much of a test, dark man, she internally snapped at him.   
  
  
  
"Peppermint quills," she chirped and the statue leapt aside, permitting their entrance. The dark man glared even harder at her. She only offered a small smile in return. As the stairs made their way to the office door, Griee attempted to catch her breath and smooth back the ever-loosening chignon of her wavy mass of red hair. The dark man scoffed from behind at her display of vanity. He may be content with that black mop, she smirked, but I'll be damned if I look any more dishevelled.   
  
  
  
When they entered the headmaster's office, the old wizard stood before his massive, cluttered desk and welcomed them both in with offers of lemon drops; which they both refused. He approached the slightly wheezing and paled witch first. Taking her into a gentle hug—she had irrationally feared a fierce embrace—he whispered into her ear.  
  
  
  
"I'm so glad you're safe, my dearest." Stepping back, he nodded to the sinister figure that stood only a little ways behind Griee. "And I see you've met our potions master. How kind of you, Severus, to attend to our visitor." Severus began to protest, he attended to no one. But the witch interrupted him.  
  
  
  
"Yes," she smiled, "terribly kind." She emphasised the adverb and shot a pointed look at the man named Severus. The headmaster cleared his throat and an enchanted coat rack wobbled over to the group. Unclasping the sterling pin at her throat, she shrugged off the silvery blue cloak and placed it on a peg. As if delighted by her offering, the coat rack danced back over to its corner after making a quick bow to her. Severus frowned at the furniture as it made obeisance for the woman. Unconsciously, he noted the antique cut and brocading of her midnight blue dress. The dress revealed little, only a graceful neck that fed into her softly protruding collarbones and hints of freckled shoulders. Were it not for her quick tongue and obvious wealth, he would have guessed her a Weasley.   
  
  
  
"Allow me to make a formal introduction," Albus smiled and took position between them. Here it comes, thought Griee. Any wizard worth his wand would know the implications of her titles. Silently, she implored Albus to get it over with. Expecting the eldest and ranking be introduced first, as aristocratic tradition held, Severus readied his posture and called forth his most snide smirk. He barely concealed his shock as the headmaster turned to the woman and bowed his head. "Please allow me to present Severus Snape, Potions Master and Professor of Hogwarts School." Albus straightened and turned to face Severus. "Severus Snape," he began, with mock formality. The twinkle in his eyes hinted at his amusement to see the sharp tongued Snape at a loss for words. "You stand before Griee Morganae," seeing Snape was confused but still unimpressed, he continued. "Brena and Illuminatus."  
  
  
  
Griee stood still. At the least, she expected to return a bow. At most, she would have to offer her hand to this…gentleman. She was truly surprised yet none too distressed, when Snape cocked his head at an odd angle to glare at Dumbledore. A most unfortunate angle for that particular head to positioned, Griee thought as she studied his features in profile. His limp, jet black hair had fought its way out of the black ribbon he tied at the nape of his neck. His beakish nose was garishly backlit by the corner fire grate and his scowl only added severity to his already angular bone structure. He spoke harshly and accusingly.  
  
  
  
"She's a Bren?!" He spat.  
  
"Bren-ah, yes. And Illuminatus," Dumbledore added. Not waiting for further comment and seemingly pleased with his Potions Master's stunned silence, he turned back to Griee. "Minister Fudge will be here in the morning. I'll summon a house elf to see you to your rooms. I think you'll find them most pleasant," He smiled warmly at her, ignoring the man slowly recovering his wits in the background. His smile faded as he thought of something to add. "Should I send Madam Pomfrey later this evening to," he began but was interrupted by her gentle refusal.  
  
"No use in it, Albus. Time heals all," she paused and added, "Well, almost all." A house elf, clad in strategically placed oven rags, appeared and retrieved Griee's cloak.   
  
"Mistress is most lucky and most worthy and will be most pleased at her rooms!" The elf beamed up at her. The two departed for her rooms, leaving behind a very amused headmaster and very upset potions master. 


	2. Chapter 2 An Odd Combination

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer  
  
If you want any more chapters, review. I feel like I'm typing to a brick wall if no one bothers to review and that makes me very reluctant to update...  
  
Chapter Two  
  
An odd combination  
  
Severus recalled the first time he had heard of the Order of Bren. Ancient as the magic they possessed, their membership consisted of only the most powerful of powerful wizards and witches, inducted early and trained thoroughly. Enigmatic, yet potent, their order had been responsible, directly or indirectly, for most of the celebrated victories against evil and injustice in wizarding history. Brens (wizards) and Brenas (witches) were respected and feared. Rumours of their mighty power became somewhat mythical in the wizarding world—mythical was an accurate word in Severus' mind, at least. The level and effectiveness of wandless magic they were supposedly capable of was impossible.   
  
Severus absently stirred his cauldron and was rewarded with singed arm hair. "Damn," he cursed aloud to no one. Setting that particular project aside, knowing better than to brew with less than 100% concentration, he returned to his musing about the infuriating and entitled witch. While belonging to the Bren was more than impressive, when it was coupled with the purported gifts of the Illuminatae, the idea became fantastical. Severus knew far more Illuminatae than Bren, which until this morning had been none.   
  
He was in his sixth year as a member of Slytherin house at Hogwarts when it was announced that a Hufflepuff house member his age would be given a gift of Illuminatae. Completely wasted on a Hufflepuff, he wagered. He struggled to remember the exact nature of the gift the boy received. Ah, yes. It was a gift of knowledge, but knowledge of what? Severus couldn't remember if it was knowledge of runes or divination. He still regarded it as a rather mundane gift in comparison to the others of which he had heard: clairvoyance, invisibility, Time Turner-less time travel, extrasensory perception.   
  
The list was long if not a tad bit hyperbolised. But the gifts were real, Severus knew. The gifts were passed from an old and powerful wizard or witch to a younger member of the magical community with great potential. Had he not been sorted into Slytherin, Snape himself would have most likely been a recipient of a gift. As it was and, still is, most Illuminatae refuse to pass their gifts into the care of the members of a house notorious for its history of producing dark wizards and, more recently, Death Eaters.  
  
To meet a Brena who also had a gift of Illuminatae was rare to the point of fancy. And yet, only hours ago, Severus had met one. He wondered what Brena Morganae's particular gift was. Perhaps the acerbic wit, he thought dryly. He tried to recall her appearance to see if there may have been a physical manifestation of her gift.   
  
In his mind's eye, he began from the top of her form, noting her red hair coiled into a tight up do, held in place by ivory combs. That fiery coif was certainly no gift, he scoffed. She was tall as well even to him. Though the potions master stood at over 190 centimetres, she was able to look him in the eye without sticking her chin into the air as most women had to resort to. She was tall without being willowy and fair without looking sun deprived. While he had disliked her immediately, he was forced to admit she had been pleasing to the eye, though certainly not the ear.   
  
He then remembered the old world cut of her dress and mentally smacked his forehead. Of course the style had seemed familiar—it was the traditional fashion of the Bren Order. The men donned Edwardian highwayman coats and culottes while the women wore elaborately brocaded dresses made from heavy silks and linens. The men's wear was almost always green and accented with gold. The women wore all shades of blue with all types of silver filigree. The modest cut and embroidery of her dress was an aristocratic symbol of status. A symbol he had failed to recognise.   
  
"A Brena!? Teaching here at Hogwarts!?" Minerva practically screeched at Dumbledore. "Albus, I realise your affinity for the girl—and I'm certainly not denying her need to be protected—but she mustn't stay here any longer than absolutely necessary."  
  
"And I think," Albus interrupted, "that the entire school year is necessary. Besides, she'll make a fine Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. Surely, Minerva, you cannot deny her obvious talent in that respect," the headmaster winked at the perturbed witch.  
  
"But Albus," she began. He silenced her thought by holding up his hand. Seconds later, the office door opened to reveal the Brena in question. Griee walked further in. She bowed, stiffly due to soreness, to Minerva and greeted her warmly.  
  
"Yes dear," Minerva answered, politely. "I am doing well. I must take my leave, however." She gave Albus a pointed look and muttered her pardon as she walked through the doorway. Griee looked back at Albus and smirked.  
  
"She's not happy to have me here, is she?"  
  
"You know the answer better than I," he chuckled. "Come and sit. I don't mean to rush you, of course. I would rather you didn't have to do this but…" his voice trailed off. Griee took his hand with a warm squeeze  
  
"Albus," she smiled sadly, "we've both had to do quite a few things we'd rather not. And while we loathed the tasks, we did them pretty damn well. This is just one more test…a scary little test though, huh?" she chuckled. "Bring on the Pensieve!" The self-mocking air of her last comments brought a smile to the headmaster's lips.   
  
"Of course," he said leading her to the table. For the next fifteen minutes she was forced to relive the most harrowing event in her life while the headmaster, her friend and mentor, looked on helpless to give comfort. 


	3. Chapter 3 Glimpsing Griee

See Chapter One for Disclaimer  
  
Remember to review  
  
Ugh...the format of the first time I posted this was terrible.   
  
A note to my reveiwer & bb'ers...I'm really trying to tone down the OFC. I apologise for bringing one more Mary Sue atrocity in to the world but I promise that wasn't my intention. After this chapter, the last one I have really polished, this fic will most likely die. It isn't what I was going for and the Mary Sue factor is a disgrace. Sorry.  
  
*** As far as the 'wierd' name and spelling goes, my first language is Gaelic and Griee, while it is no 'Gaelic' equivalent to Heather, is not uncommon, especially as a nickname.   
  
  
  
Chapter Three  
  
Glimpsing Griee   
  
  
  
Severus headed out of the dungeons, early the next morning, and off to the meeting between the Minister of Magic and Hogwart's new Brena. Once seated, he checked his pocket watch, noting that Minister Fudge was late. The day had begun so long ago, he scowled. And on the heels of waking in the early morning during holiday had come the revelation concerning the castle's new visitor.  
  
Albus had summoned him shortly after his noon tea. Upon arriving in the headmaster's office, Albus directed his attention to a large bowl that sat on his desk. Skipping pleasantries and the habitually offered lemon drops, Albus looked to Severus.   
  
"There is something I want you to see," he motioned for Snape to sit. The potions master sat and warily leaned over the bowl. The last sound of the real world he heard was Albus distinctly sighing.  
  
He was immediately in memory—not his own memory of course—perhaps a memory of Dumbledore's. He turned his head to take in his surroundings. He determined it to be some sort of lav with a currently occupied shower cubicle. What an odd memory for Albus to choose to share, he thought. Suddenly, the door to the lav was hexed off its hinges, the noise muted by another murmured incantation. Four men rushed in. Severus fought the urge to gasp as he recognised their garb. "Death Eaters," he whispered. The leader grabbed at the cloth of the shower curtain and ripped it down, revealing a naked but unflinching Brena Morganae.   
  
"Crucio!" the first Death Eater pointed his wand at her. The curse flew fast and hit her, full force. Expecting her to drop instantly, Severus was amazed when she cringed slightly yet remained upright. She quickly raised her left arm, her hand empty and assumed useless. What she mumbled was hard to discern over the water pounding on tiles but Severus saw its effects immediately. The Death Eater who cast Crucio fell dead and the tell-tell green sparks of dark magic hung in the air and on her still sparkling fingertips. The three remaining Death-Eaters, obviously distraught at her blatant use of dark magic, took advantage of moment of weakness as she steadied herself from the draining effects of her use of powerful magic without the aid of a wand.   
  
"Avir Noc!" he hissed. The woman was thrown through the air in an odd, clumsy fashion as her magic fought to repel the spell. He managed to slam her side into the tile wall and Severus heard the unmistakable snap of bone. Griee slid down the wall and slumped to the floor, moaning. Always a group fond of torture before death, the second man spat out the incantation again, this time sending her, back first, into the mirror over the wash basin. It shattered and ripped into naked flesh.  
  
Severus clinched his fist as he recognised the voice. He returned his attention to the badly beaten witch lying on the floor in a puddle of blood. One of the Death Eaters kicked her, hard, and she rolled close to the body of the dead wizard. She grabbed his wand and screamed a stupefying spell so loud even Severus' ears rang. Two of the Death Eaters fell to the ground as timbers. The remaining Death Eater, the leader, attacked with an expelling spell and the wand flew from her hand. Exhausted, she lay on the floor looking resolved to her death. As he leaned forward, the masked man took her throat in his hand.  
  
"I think I'll squeeze the life out of you, eh?" a rich baritone came from behind the still mask. He squeezed her throat harder and Severus saw the blue come to her lips. Just as she was about to pass out, she groped for a shard of mirror and finding it stabbed at the man. The glass penetrated the man's unprotected belly and he screamed, releasing his grip. They both lay there, Morganae gasping for breath and the Death Eater writhing in pain. Suddenly, Severus was in the headmaster's office.  
  
"How did she…" he began but pushed that thought aside. "She used dark magic, Unforgivables!"  
  
"I know," Dumbledore offered.   
  
"And you want her to teach? She should be… Is no one looking for her—the Ministry? Azkaban?" he seethed.  
  
"She did it to protect herself."  
  
"She did it all the same," Snape muttered.  
  
"Cornelius Fudge will be here in the morning. I want you to be here as well," the headmaster spoke measurably.   
  
"And why, may I ask, will my presence be required?" Snape drawled.   
  
"If things go as I suspect tomorrow," Albus spoke quickly, "I may need help in restraining Ms Morganae."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
After a lengthy explanation, that conveniently excluded the dark magic, Morganae began to question Fudge. Feeling it should be the other way around, Fudge became defensive and nervous.  
  
"Do you not think that Voldemort is a real threat?" she demanded in an unflatteringly shrilly voice.  
  
"My dear, He-who-must-not-be-named is dead. The few remaining Death Eaters are only out for themselves," he said, surely.   
  
"I don't need to remind you that I am one of the few people in this room," he became aware of her angry tone, "who has first hand experience with a Death Eater, let alone four of them. Mark my words, Minister, Voldemort is alive and commanding his legions once again. Five other Brens have been attacked." Severus saw that Griee looked pointedly at Fudge who in turn looked to Dumbledore.   
  
"I suppose the girl does have a point…" he began lightly.  
  
"The girl has a proper name and proper title, which you will use when you address me," Griee interrupted quickly. "And only me," she added.  
  
"Albus, are you going to just let her commandeer the room?" Fudge looked nervously at the old wizard. For his part, Albus kept silent. He looked forward to what he was sure would ensue as soon as the Minister chose to address himself instead of the fiery Brena.  
  
"Albus lets me do nothing. His presence is due to my request. His wise council and breadth of experience are unmatched." She glared, icily. In an attempt to be jovial, Fudge motioned to Professor Snape who was seated nearby.  
  
"Eh, then why is he here?" Fudge laughed at his own joke. Griee rose angrily from her seat and in two, man-wide strides stood before the shocked Minister.  
  
"He is here because he is a very powerful and clever wizard. And one of the wizarding world's greatest assets," she snarled. In truth, she too had wondered why   
  
Albus had asked for Severus to be present during her meeting with Minister Fudge. In the end, she had decided not to question his motives, only to trust him. To have Fudge so thinly veil an insult to Snape infuriated her. She may not have been fond of the potions master, but she would not allow any wizard as talented as he to be mocked.  
  
"Look here, young lady!" Fudge attempted to chide.  
  
"Enough!" She slammed her fist on the side table causing him to flinch. "Fudge,   
  
I am not as young as that and I am certainly no lady. You have been an utter and complete waste of my time. I am flustered by your insistence at denying not only my title, but my ability to speak for myself." Fudge shifted uncomfortably in his seat and raised a hand to silence her. Griee paid no attention to gesture and continued her tirade.   
  
"Invoking the wrath of a Brena is no safe way to go through life," at this she poked a slender finger in the general area of his continually reddening face. "A word of warning,   
  
Fudge: most Brens would not be quite as understanding." Her momentary lapse of courtly apathy allowed Severus a better look at her. In this state, her hair falling in her face and her body poised in a territorial crouch, he saw her sheer crassness. She was no 'born' aristocrat as he first thought. Her features were too rough—her cheeks too high, her nose too round, her shoulders too broad. Her grace was learned, not inherent, and vanished at the least distraction. Standing now, before the minister, she looked dangerous not distinguished.   
  
"This meeting is over!" Fudge bellowed.  
  
"Yes it is," Griee growled. Albus sighed as the two left, first Griee—stomping all the way and Fudge—content to scoff at her impertinence with every step. The headmaster turned toward Snape and smiled.  
  
"That went well," he chuckled.  
  
*Fic now dead * Commence with rejoicing* 


End file.
